It's Stil Lust Isn't It?
by everfaraway
Summary: After 20 year Logan find his cajun again.  Set after X-Men 3.  Hot, yummy guy/guy smut.  No like, no read!  Sequel to How It Should Have Ended


It's Still Lust... Isn't It?

_**Author: Finally I got around to writing a follow up to my "How it should have ended" fic. This is set  
after X-Men 3 which is about twenty years after Origins as far as I can tell. I own anyone or anything. Though I do  
have **__**alot of yummy pics of Gambit & Logan. R&R. No flames for the smut. If you've read my stuff you know  
I write alot of it. Rough translations for the French at the end. Lyrics are from Howl by Florence & the Machine.**_

_French (_*1/2/3) is coding for the translations at the bottom.

The city was crowded, loud and reeked of alcohol, sex and the homemade food it was known for. The people were decent and the air was humid. The bars blared out music at four or five am and the parties flowed into the streets with the same ease that the strangers mingled with the locals. He smoked cigars, ran around on fast bikes and got into fights. He wore his scars like trophies and kept to himself more often than not. He could fix a car as he easily as he could pick out one scent in a crowd. In almost twenty years, neither he or New Orleans had changed much.

In nearly two decades millions of scents had drifted through the air of New Orleans. Some of them were strong, rich and lingering, those belonged to the locals. They were the people who had the city in their veins; the ones who spoke with the heavy sultry accents and carried the scent of the city itself. The others were faint, sharp and sometimes there was barely any trace left, these were the tourists who traveled from all over the US to see the crescent city. They came for the food, the music, the parties and the booze but their scents were buried under the intoxicating presence of the city. It was more than just all of the people who constantly crowded the city; it was the river, the booze, the food, the music, the history and a thousand things that there was no names to describe. And somewhere in all of that was one, just one person that he wanted to find.

He picked up his scent near one of the clubs up on Bourbon Street. It was hidden, buried under the scent of the tourists and some of the locals, but it was there. He followed it into an alley and back out onto a different street then finally to a run down apartment building. Slowly with every heightened sense alert he walked into the building; it looked even shittier on the inside than it did on the outside. It reeked of piss, alcohol, drugs and sex; it seemed exactly like the kind of place he'd frequent. There were a pair of squatters in the corner of a stairwell and a hooker staggering out of an open apartment door. "Hey love." the hooker purred, running a hand down his leather clad arm. He shrugged her off and continued walking. She pouted and turned to walked back into the apartment she had come out of. He wasn't interested in hookers, never really was. They were trouble where he was concerned, more likely to run away screaming when he woke up from a nightmare than stay. He had taken a hooker to his bed once, many years ago. When he finally came to his senses after one of his nightmares, there was a dead body next to him with three stabs wounds through the heart and blood on his claws.

The scent was strongest just outside apartment 13. "Isn't 13 supposed to be unlucky?" he muttered as he extended a claw to open the lock. A couple of seconds later the locked clicked and slowly he opened the door, making sure it didn't hit anything or creak. He didn't want to announce his presence just yet. Slowly he glanced around, smelling the man he had come to find but not seeing him. There were dirty dishes and fast food containers all over the kitchen; the man either didn't have time or just didn't care enough to clean up. The living room was a bit cleaner, with empty bottles of alcohol here and there. Several decks of cards, an ashtray, a lighter and a pack of cigarettes sat the on the table. A jet black guitar with "_Laissez le Bons Temp Rouler (*1)_" painted along the edge of the body in spidery red letters sat in the corner. "He plays poker and guitar." he chuckled.

"Meowrr?" came a feline voice.

He spun to see a tri-colored tortoiseshell standing in the hall he hadn't noticed with a mouse between it's paws. His nose immediately told him it was young fixed female that smelled enough like the man he was looking for to belong to him. "Pretty little girl aren't you." he whispered. She flicked her tail once and picked up the mouse in her jaws.

Slowly she walked down the hall, pausing only to give him a long that almost seemed to say, "Come on." He shrugged and followed. She led him to a room that had it's door cracked open and slipped inside. Slowly he pushed the door open and found who he was looking for.

"Remy LeBeau." he said softly. The cat jumped onto the bed and rubbed against his cheek, purring loudly.

"What is it _cher (*2)?_ You been huntin' again?" the Cajun mumbled, rubbing her ears sleepily. She meowed twice and purred again. "I'm up." he yawned as he sat up and opened his eyes. His eyes widened when he looked at the figure standing just inside his bedroom. "Logan?" he asked.

Logan felt his cock harden almost immediately. He had been searching for Remy for the better part of two days and now he had found him. Two decades had changed him a lot and for the better. The Cajun was scruffier, his hair was longer, his voice deeper and huskier and his cheekbones more pronounced. His dark eyes were still semi-glazed with sleep but alert. His hair was messy, hanging down into his eyes. A deep growl began in his throat and he hissed, "Remy."

"What are you doing here Logan?" Remy asked, slowly getting off the bed. Logan saw then that all he wore was a pair of jeans that rode low on his hips but no shirt. He reeked of smoke, alcohol and people, which told Logan he had been out earlier in the night. "Logan?" the Cajun asked.

Logan dropped his gunny sack and whispered, "You."

"Wha..?" Remy asked, before he was cut off by Logan's mouth closing over his own. He groaned as his cock hardened in response to the wild man devouring him. Two decades without Logan had been two decades too damn long. Every time he had slept with anyone else, be it man or woman, he had wished it was this man.

Logan moaned loudly as his senses went into overdrive. He could taste the alcohol, cigarette smoke and cheap takeout as his tongue slid into Remy's hot wet mouth. The smell of sex, smoke, booze and spice that flowed off the Cajun was intoxicating. Both of their heartbeats were pounding in his ears and his hands roamed the younger man's bare abdomen, learning the lean muscle there and setting his nerves on fire.

Remy slid one hand under Logan's shirt and buried the other in his hair. He had missed being able to run his hands over the wild man's body; his wild man's body. Pressing against him he allowed his denim clad erection to brush against the others. They groaned in unison before Logan shoved Remy back onto the bed and attacked his neck. "_Mon dieu (*3)."_ Remy panted as he felt the feral's teeth on his neck. Logan's eyes flickered to the radio that had been turned down softer but had been turned up. Remy's tortoiseshell sat behind it, resting her fiery head on top of it. "She turns it up when songs play that she likes." Remy groaned, arching against Logan in desperation. Logan cocked his head to listen to the song for a moment.

_If you could only see the beast you've made of me  
I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free  
Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart  
Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart_

Logan smirked as he let Remy pull his wife beater over his head. "Fuck me." the Cajun growled in his deep husky voice. The feral wasted no time ripping off both to their jeans to free their erections; neither of them seemed to really bother to ever put on underwear.

"I don't have patience Remy." Logan growled.

"I don't care." Remy hissed. Logan wasn't the first man he had slept with and he had slept with plenty of men since he had run off, but he wasn't about to tell the feral that. The older, more powerful man pinned his wrists above his head with one hand and spread Remy's legs with the other.

Remy's head tilted back as he bit back a cry of pain. His ass felt like someone had just stuck a hot piece of metal up it. But even seconds later the sharp pain faded into a dull ache as his body adjusted and recognized what the intrusion was. 20 years after the very first time they had fucked, his body still remembered everything about Logan's body: his strength, length, thickness and most of all: his rough nature. Logan was not a gentle lover; he liked to mark who he slept with by way of bite and claw marks but most of all he liked good, long, rough sex.

Logan pulled almost entirely out of Remy before slamming back into him watching as his face contorted into a mix of pain and pleasure. He knew there was one place, one bundle of nerves that would wipe away the look of pain on his lover's face. Never did he intend to cause pain to the Cajun but more often than not his animalistic side took over when they were together. He slammed into him again, this time finding the bundle of nerves that made Remy's back arch off the bed. "_Mon Dieu! (*3)_" he yelped as he grabbed at the sheets. Logan lowered his head to the cajun's chest and bit down, not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to bruise. The other man whined in pain before digging his blunt nails in the feral's back. Many quick, rough thrusts, bites and scratches later Remy's back arched almost entirely off the bed and he came screaming curses. Logan buried himself to the hilt as the other man's muscle's tightened around his cock and he came with a grunt.

Many long minutes later, Remy blinked as he glanced around. The world was still very fuzzy and there was a soft buzzing in his ears. He had gone temporarily blind and deaf from the intense wave of pleasure. "Fuck." he muttered with a soft laugh.

"Ya wanna go another round?" Logan's rough voice asked from next to him.

"_Non. (*4)_" he said. His ass was sore and he had more bite marks and scratches than he could count.

The feral chuckled and muttered, "Where's the jon?"

"Down the hall, on the left." he said. Logan grabbed his gunny sack and walked out, leaving his clothes on the bedroom floor. Remy smiled and slid a pack of cigarettes from under the pillow. He charged a card laying nearby to light it and took a long drag.

"Meowww." his cat mewed, padding over to him. He petted her with his free hand and she curled up on his chest, avoiding any of the quickly cooling but sticky liquid that covered him.

Logan stood under the shower and let the scalding hot water rinse away the dirt, blood, cum and God knew what else he was covered with. It had been a while since he had taken a shower so he knew he was filthy but that was nothing new to him. What was new and somewhat disturbing were the feelings that were starting to swirl in his heart. They were just like the feeling that he had felt for Jean Grey but aimed towards the cajun in the other room. "Dammit." he growled.

*1: Let the good times roll.

*2: dear/love (affectionate term)

*3: My god

*4: No


End file.
